Char's eyes suddenly blazed with a brilliant light. The frstration that had weighed on him for days was torn away in a single, electrifying moment of insight. He finally understood what was missing.
"Light," he whispered, his voice trembling with the force of the revelation. "Without light, where does the shadow come from? The stronger the light, the darker the shadow. The light source in the greenhouse is designed to provide bright, diffuse light for even growth. It could never provide the kind of intense, concentrated light needed."
Figuring this out, Char was overcome with a wave of exhilarating energy. He left Hagrid's hut in a rush, completely forgetting about the newly matured Goldfish Spider Plants he had come to harvest. He had to verify his theory.
Back in his private greenhouse, he took out the Shadowthorn root. The system information was the same as before, the reward for [Ancient Shadow Magic Enlightenment (Black Iron level)] flickering in and out of existence. But this time, he was ready.
He took out his wand. "Lumos!"
A familiar, soft glow illuminated the gnarled root. The reward information continued to flicker, but Char's eyes narrowed. He noticed a subtle change: the text lingered for a fraction of a second longer than before.
"It works," he breathed. "But a normal Lumos is still too weak. I need to increase the intensity."
He cast the spell again, pouring more power into it. A bright, focused light, like a powerful flashlight, shone down on the Shadowthorn. The effect was immediate. The reward message was visible for nearly twice as long, the ghostly letters now much clearer. But it still wasn't fully formed. It was still flickering.
He frowned. For a standard Lumos Charm, this was the limit of its brightness. It still wasn't enough.
Suddenly, an idea flashed in his mind—an experiment he had considered after his Lumos spell reached the platinum level. By adjusting the magical particles within the charm, aligning their frequencies, he could theoretically create a beam of light far brighter and more concentrated than a normal Lumos. It was the first step toward a conceptual "Laser Spell" he had imagined. At the time, his magical perception had been insufficient. But now…
Even though a true laser was still beyond him, perhaps he could create a concentrated beam of light strong enough to stabilize the reward.
Taking a deep breath, Char cast the spell a third time. "Lumos!"
His mind plunged into the magic itself. He could see the countless tiny particles of light that made up the charm, each one vibrating at a different frequency. With his gold-level perception, his platinum-level understanding of spell harmony, and his newfound knowledge of Transfiguration, his control over the microscopic level of magic was far greater than before.
He held his breath, using all his skill to adjust the frequencies, forcing them into alignment. He easily surpassed his previous limits, and in an instant, nearly half the particles in the charm began to synchronize.
The light that erupted from the tip of his wand was no longer a gentle glow. It was a condensed, piercing beam, a searchlight that hit the Shadowthorn with blinding intensity. The effect was instantaneous. The reward information on his system panel became clearer than it had ever been, the flickering almost gone. The shadow cast by the root under the intense beam was an unprecedented, profound black. For a moment, Char could have sworn he saw the shadow itself writhe, as if it were about to come to life.
His eyes lit up. This shadow… could this be the physical manifestation of the ancient magic?
"But it's still not enough," he muttered, pushing himself further. He surpassed his previous limit, forcing more and more particles into synchronization. The beam of light shrank, becoming even more concentrated, its center so bright it was impossible to look at directly. The mental strain was immense, the burden increasing exponentially. Beads of sweat poured down his forehead. It felt like his brain was being overclocked.
But he held on for a few crucial seconds. It was enough.
The reward information for the Shadowthorn finally stabilized. Even after the intense beam of light from his wand dissipated, the text remained solid, no longer flickering. Its black iron luster was now richer and deeper than ever before.
Char let out a long, shuddering breath and collapsed onto the ground, rubbing his temples, which throbbed from the mental exhaustion. As his eyes adjusted, he felt that the small greenhouse seemed much darker than before. Was it just his eyes adapting from the intense light?
He looked over at the Shadowthorn root, and his blood ran cold. The shadow it cast, even under the normal light of the greenhouse, was still just as dark, just as deep. And as he watched, it began to move, slowly, like a living thing. The shadow suddenly stretched out, spreading across the floor toward him. It twisted and intertwined, forming the shape of a monstrous, gaping maw, letting out a silent, ancient roar.
Char's eyes widened, his hand instinctively tightening on his wand.
At that same moment, on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a pale, kneeling figure emerged from the trees. Quirrell, his face ashen, hurried back toward the castle, Voldemort's cold, angry voice hissing in his mind.
"Quirrell, why did you borrow my power again? The unicorn is not yet found. This is the third time."
Fear and resentment warred on Quirrell's face. "Master," he whined, "the Forbidden Forest is too dangerous. I was searching for the unicorn's trail when I ran into a colony of Acromantulas. That oaf Hagrid is to blame! And to make matters worse, the Hogwarts professors are patrolling the forest every night. Dumbledore must be working them to the bone! The old tyrant! He deserves to be strung up!"
He gnashed his teeth. "These patrols are seriously affecting my progress, Master."
Voldemort let out a cold snort but didn't reprimand him too harshly. Quirrell was the only useful subordinate he had. After a moment's thought, he said, "There is nothing for it. If we do not find a unicorn soon, our strength will be too depleted to get past the protections. Quirrell, write an anonymous letter to Lucius Malfoy. Have him cause some trouble for Hogwarts. Distract Dumbledore and those meddling professors. As for the content, you will write this…"
Following Voldemort's instructions, Quirrell returned to his room, disguised his handwriting, and wrote the letter. He then waved his wand, and the parchment burst into strange, black flames, vanishing into nothingness.
In the magnificent Malfoy Manor, Lucius Malfoy's hand tightened on his snake-headed cane, his face pale. On the polished desk before him, black flames flickered into existence, a letter gradually taking shape within them. A fear he had not felt for many years gripped him. He had only seen this method of delivering a letter once before. A phantom pain shot through his arm, right where the Dark Mark was hidden.
He stood frozen, his eyes darting between the magical letter and the contact information for the Ministry and Dumbledore. But in the end, his gaze fell on a framed photograph of his family. The memory of this strange magic bypassing all his family's defenses made his decision for him. With a trembling hand, he carefully took the letter.
As he read the contents, a long, shuddering breath escaped him. The whole of him seemed to collapse with relief. It wasn't an order to kill someone, or to convene a Death Eater meeting. It was just a command to use his influence on the school board to cause some trouble for Hogwarts, to keep Dumbledore and the professors busy. It was a difficult task, but it was far better than the worst-case scenarios that had been running through his mind.
After his fear subsided, he began to think. The recent award ceremony for Char Sprout came to mind. He had already voiced his objection to Dumbledore giving the boy exclusive use of the small greenhouse. At the time, it had been partly to vent his son's frustrations and partly to assert the board's authority. But now, he had a real reason to press the issue. It was either cause trouble for Hogwarts, or have trouble visit the Malfoy family.
A flash of fear returned to his eyes. He began to write a letter.
"De… dear… father?!"
Back in the small greenhouse, Char was on high alert, his wand gripped tightly, as the shadow of the Shadowthorn extended toward him. But when the swirling darkness spelled out the word "father" on the ground, his mind went completely blank.
The shadow seemed to nod, then spelled out another line of shadowy text.
"Father."
The magical aura emanating from the plant was now palpably happy. Char watched for a long time, his initial wariness slowly giving way to a bewildered acceptance. The Shadowthorn wasn't hostile. It was… greeting him.
"I know some magical plants have emotions," he thought, his expression a mixture of confusion and wonder. "Some can even speak. But I've never read anything like this in any of the books. It must be the combination of the Deathly Hallow's magic and the intense light. It's induced a mutation, creating a completely new subspecies. One with emotions, consciousness… and basic literacy?"
After a while, though it still felt incredibly strange, he gradually accepted the fact that a plant had just recognized him as its father. This was the wizarding world, after all. Was this even that abnormal?
Compared to being a father, however, he was more curious about one thing. He looked at the thick, dark shadow.
"Son," he began, then corrected himself. "No, I'll just call you Shadow. Is this shadow of yours… what is called ancient shadow magic?"
The shadow swayed aimlessly. It had just gained consciousness; it had no idea what he was talking about.
Char thought for a moment, then pointed to a stone not far away. "Use your shadow to attack it."
The next moment, the shadow surged forward, engulfing the stone like a monstrous serpent. In absolute silence, the hard stone was torn into dust.
A look of pure, unadulterated awe appeared in Char's eyes.
"This power…"